Souvenir of your Conquests
by My Little Big Blue Box
Summary: All she wanted was peace, but if her night was anything to go by, then it's safe to say that Emma Swan will probably never know the meaning of peace again and all because of one little piece of fabric. ONESHOT.


**Souvenir of Your Conquests**

Peace. It was all she was asking for and after the few days she'd had – what with New York, the emotional trauma and the rather large bump now residing on her forehead from being shoved by an revenge-driven pirate – she thought she deserved it but alas... it seemed that whatever fate had in store for her, peace was not it, not even in her own office.

"Ahh, Miss Swan. I was hoping I'd find you."

Emma jumped at the voice, knowing exactly who it was and wondering just how he had known where to find her and – momentarily – how he'd got back to Storybrooke in the first place.

She turned in her swivel chair behind her desk to find him, pirate regalia at its finest, leaning against her door frame, "Hook!" She forced a grin, "You got out of your cupboard, I see."

"Aye, thanks to no help from you. Much appreciated, by the way," His lip curled slightly, a voice of annoyance.

"No problem. I do whatever I can when I need to," She snarked back, trying to distract herself with paper work.

"I've noticed," He acquiesced, slowly wandering into her office – first to the filing cabinet, then running his hook along the window frame in front of her and then to behind her.

"What do you want, Hook? I have work to do," Emma said finally, irate and uncomfortable as he drew closer.

"I..." Hook hesitated and, Emma, when she looked in his direction, thought that, for probably the first time in his life, he looked uneasy, almost nervous.

"What's the matter?" She asked softly.

He finally sat on the edge of desk, looked at her, a curious concern in his eyes and finally said, "_You_ weren't supposed to get hurt."

Emma shrugged and touched the slightly bruised patch of skin, detached and offhand, everything her body was fighting not to be, "Well, what d'ya know, Captain Hook has a conscience."

"I hope," He replied, a little snappy in response, "You'll accept my apology. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Her eyebrows raised, she scoffed, "So, it was my fault?"

"That's not what I meant, Emma." She heaved a breath as he said her name, something she knew he'd notice, "But you know that."

Emma looked at him for a moment, caught in his sincerity and she knew that this wasn't something that came easy for him but she also knew that he wouldn't have done it if he hadn't _wanted_ to do it and _wanted _her to know that he was sorry. She knew he hadn't gone out with the intention of hurting her. She knew, _somehow she knew_, that this was part of him before he was Hook, before he was overcome with heartbreak and a desire for revenge. She almost felt lucky, honoured.

Had she just met, in a very fleeting moment, Killian Jones?

Looking away, she sighed, "If I hadn't been there, you would've killed Gold. I wasn't gonna let that happen."

He chuckled darkly and she finally looked back at him, "If at first you don't succeed... you know the rest, sweetheart."

"You can't kill Gold."

"I have to." He replied through gritted teeth and with that the mood shifted, a new weight in the air.

"No, you don't. You're not gonna kill him," Before he could interrupt again, she continued, "Haven't you had enough revenge? Aren't you tired of all the hatred and anger?

"Aren't you?" He countered, eying her evenly and it was like he could see her through and through, every bit of her.

"I'm not angry about anything. I don't hate anyone so much, that I want to kill them either," Emma argued.

"Oh really?" He paused. "So, how do you know Baelfire? Because that _was_ the fella you were with in New York, wasn't it?"

Emma balked. Needing space, she stood up and took a few steps away from her desk, "How do you know? You were out cold before he came back?"

Hook ignored her, standing up from his place leaning against her desk and begun to walk, again slowly, towards her, "My guess, is there's a history and that history includes your bonny lad."

Close enough that she could feel Hook's breath on her skin, Emma looked up at him with all the intimidating strength she had, "Stay away from Henry."

At that, Hook gaped, offended, "You really think I would hurt him?"

"I wouldn't let you."

"So you think I'd try."

"I didn't say that. I just warned you not to."

Somehow, Emma didn't flinch when his finger and thumb graced her chin and held her there, staring at him and him at her, intensely, honestly.

"I promise you, Emma," He said, his voice steady and clear, "I won't ever hurt your son."

She slipped out of his grasp, catching her breath as best she could in a room that suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked out of it. For support, she lifted her elbows atop the filing cabinet and couldn't quite believe that she had to wipe away a tear.

"Emma..."

"Thank you," She croaked over him, and turned back to him, "For that," And just to see how it tasted on her lips she added, "_Killian._"

Hook grinned boyishly, looking younger than she'd ever seen him before and eliciting a smile – or was that a giggle? - from her too.

"Now, that," He said, pointing at her grinning face and making her blush, "Is so much better."

"Don't get used to it," She remarked quietly.

A sticky silence fell on them after a few minutes of smiling and watching each other and finally, it became too much.

"What are you doing here, Killian?" His lips twitched slightly as she said his name again, "Is there something you want or are you just here to play the perpetual nuisance?"

"Actually, there was one thing," He scoffed a chuckle and strode back over to where he had been sat at her desk, "I noticed something the last time I was here."

"Oh yeah," Emma replied, and frowned at him admonishingly, "You mean the time you knocked my father out cold with a crowbar?"

Killian rolled his eyes, his lips breaking into a small smile once more, "Forgive me love, it was nothing personal."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Anyway," He continued, as he jerked the desk draw open, "Something caught my attention," Using his hook, he pulled the scrap of fabric from draw and held it up in plain sight.

Emma already knew she was blushing. She had sort of forgotten that she had that but the point was that she'd kept it in the first place as a...

"Souvenir of your conquest, darling?"

Emma went to grab it two or three times but Killian held it out of reach as she grew closer and closer to him once more and her frown deepened with each miss.

"Now, really, love, why would you want to keep a dirty, bloody, old rag?" He teased.

"It... it wasn't intentional, I-I just threw it in there with the rest of your crap," She eyed is hook with an indifferent glace, but a lightness in her tone betrayed her.

Whether he heard it or not, however, she wasn't sure as he replied, well and truly offended, "Hey, there is nothing crap about my hook!" He paused and in a split second his face changed back to one of mockery as he brought the rag on his hook to her eye level, "Come on, love, be honest, you kept it for a reason."

It wasn't even a question.

She snatched the fabric from him and quickly shoved it in her back pocket, "Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't. What does it matter?"

"Oh, it matters, Swan, my girl," He whispered in her ear as he rounded her.

"I am not your girl," She muttered in response.

For a minute he was silent behind her and when she grew impatient, Emma turned around to find out what had caught his tongue. When she finally looked at him he smiled wide once more, a new determination and wonder behind his eyes, but nonetheless she still smiled back.

"What?" She said quietly.

Killian silently cocked his head to one side and looked at her as if he was making his most important choice. A moment later, for the second time that evening, he grabbed her chin between finger and thumb but this time, he pulled her forward and just when Emma thought he was going to kiss her – and he did – it wasn't anything like she had expected.

Instead of kissing her on the lips, Killian brushed his hook gently across her forehead, the cool metal making her shiver, and pushed away a piece of hair, just enough so he could kiss the bruise on her forehead.

When he pulled away, somewhat hesitantly on both parts, they found themselves staring at each other again, a new understanding, a change between them evident, and a good change at that.

"Killian..."

"I'm sorry about the bruise, Emma," He muttered, earnestly.

"Apology accepted," She smiled back, a new fondness for her name on his lips.

A sudden loss washed over Emma as his hand once again slipped from her chin and as he took a few steps backward, she couldn't help the one she took towards him, trying to regain the warmth.

"I'll be back for you, my girl, just you wait," And with a wink and one last grin, he disappeared from sight leaving Emma in her office.

Once she heard the front door open and close with his exit, she dug her hand into her back pocket and pulled out the fabric once more, looked at it curiously, and said to herself, almost too hopeful for her damaged self's liking, "We'll see."

But only almost.

**A.N. So, my first Captain Swan fic, yay! I don't know if any of you know but I'm on tumblr (the link's on my profile) and – though I've been a CS shipper since pretty much their first scenes together - I've been going absolutely CRAZY for them over the last few weeks and so, I just couldn't not write SOMETHING and here it is! :)**

**How does one become inspired by a piece a fabric being shown on screen? Like this, I guess!**

**As always, thoughts are appreciated.**

**Enjoy,**

**Jessica.**


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